


A Game Played by Two

by crazinaway



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Nerd!Blaine, Popular!Kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:43:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazinaway/pseuds/crazinaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is the world on the surface, where they can’t stand the mere look of each other’s face; and there is the world beneath the surface, where bodies are grinding everywhere and red cups form a sea the night they first hook-up. Either way, it’s clear to all they’re fighting -- but there are boundaries to every game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Game Played by Two

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://gleeddicted.tumblr.com/post/45673507165) gifset, by the talented, lovely Angie.

Every story has a beginning and has an end -- and it’s important to know that their story may begin like many others, but its start is a whole lot different.

 

*

 

Bodies are grinding everywhere and red cups form a sea the night they first hook-up.

There’d be more of a story to that night, if one of them could remember it -- only they can’t, because along with the sea of cups there was booze flowing in veins, and all Kurt can remember is noticing a guy in skintight red jeans swaying his hips in a way that made Kurt’s blood pump faster, and all Blaine can remember are arms wrapped around his waist, a chest pressing close to his back and hot breathe tingling the back of his neck.

After that there was dancing -- one dance, and then one more -- all of them to a low fast beat with a hint of more, in the middle of an unfamiliar living-room among many, many other couples; and a dance led to two led to three and there’s a shared, following memory they both have of climbing a staircase, giggly and buzzy and drunk off their asses, and fumbling with a number of doors and falling on a bed, limbs tangling together.

It was one hell of a night, they can both agree on; it consisted of tongues and fingers and moans and moving frantically together, and it’d be a one-night-stand to remember if only they _remembered_ it, and if only they didn’t hate each other in the life outside the party in a house whose owner they don’t even know.

 

*

 

And so it starts, on the morning after, with a killing headache and the vision-blurring hangover, and the text that says _fucking hell i think we hooked up & u gave me ur number_; because finding another gay boy in the area surrounding Lima, Ohio, has proved to be quite a task, and because finding another gay boy who is this fantastic in bed is just plain miracle.

They mutually ignore the fact that they sort of can’t stand the look of each other’s face when not scrunched up in pleasure; liking each other has nothing to do with mind-blowing orgasms.

 

*

 

“I dunno why you even bother showing up to school,” Santana raises an eyebrow at the boy, tugging at her red-and-white uniform impatiently, and despite standing with his back to her he rolls his eyes, slamming his locker shut.

“Some of us have this thing called a _future_ to think of,” Anderson replies darkly, and accepts the slushy Quinn throws at his face with nothing more than clenched fists -- practice makes perfect and it’s not like he’d give them the satisfaction of a reaction, anyway.

“I have a future too, and I, as well, don’t understand why you show up to school,” Kurt adds airily from a distance as he passes by the three, walking down the hallway to his next class, and Santana turns her head and grins at him with a flick of her fingers as a _hello_.

Anderson doesn’t answer him, just purses his mouth angrily and wipes the green liquid out of his eyes before untying his bowtie and attempting to wipe it clean, to no avail.

Kurt continues walking down the hallway with no second look, fingers gripping the strap of his shoulder-bag; Anderson gets slushied every three days, clockwise -- surely he would know to stop wearing clothes he cares about, clothes that are expensive, clothes that he minds getting covered in nearly impossible to clean goo -- also, Kurt can honestly care less if the horrifying dotted pink bowtie he was wearing is ruined. One less fashion crime for the world to deal with.

 

*

 

“God, you need to wear fewer clothes, _now_ ,” Blaine chokes out before he slams Kurt against the now-closed door of his bedroom and smashes their lips together hungrily.

(Kurt lets out a muffled noise at the posters wrinkling against his back, and absently wonders when Blaine started being a fan of polo and fencing, but then he does that _thing_ with his tongue and --)

“Same can be said about you,” Kurt breaks the kiss with a breathy gasp, lowering his head to bite hard at Blaine’s jaw as he slides his hands against tan skin and under a white button-up that is already untucked from the cuffed mustard-colored pants Blaine was wearing to school.

Blaine doesn’t bother replying, just lets out a cut-off moan into the crook of Kurt’s neck that makes Kurt shiver and pushes them off the door when his shirt is completely undone, throwing them on the stupidly perfectly made bed.

Kurt wraps his legs around Blaine’s hips and bites harder onto his shoulder, leaving no room for argument when he pants, “You’re gonna ride me -- I’ve been waiting to see you take it all day.”

Blaine nods fervently in agreement.

 

*

 

“You’re a bitch with no actual talent who’s just waiting for everyone to do his job,” Anderson snaps at him mid-hall one day, jaw set tight and shoulder hunched, and Kurt glares so hard he’s surprised Anderson’s produce-filled hair doesn’t catch on fire.

“And you’re a friendless, sad excuse of a nerd since you’re not actually smarter than any of us,” he flares, furious red flush climbing up his neck under the purple collar of his shirt; he has better insults, wittier and angrier, but wasting his energy on this pathetic geek is pointless.  “So really, I think I win.”

He storms away, afterwards, and if he feels the tiniest bit of regret, it’s probably because Anderson is wearing an actually nicely put-together outfit that day, for a fucking change, and he’s certainly going to get slushied after pulling that off against one of the most popular boys in school for the entire student population to see.

 

*

 

“I wanna blow you, oh my god,” Blaine pants, voice unstable and fingers shaky as he scrambles to find Kurt’s fly in the darkness.

“You -- ah,” Kurt swallows the sound he was going to make and presses the back of his hand to his mouth tightly before nodding, eyes fluttering shut, and grunts, “Yeah, yeah, god, _please_.”

Blaine straddles his legs on the backseat, his weight holding Kurt down, and they’re so close, so tightly pressed together because Blaine’s car is bigger but his parents would ask where he’s going and they really couldn’t wait any longer.

“I’m gonna bring you so close and then stop,” Blaine whispers, hot breathe ghosting over the exposed bulge in Kurt’s boxers now that Blaine finally pulled his jeans down. “And then again, and again, until you scream my name --“

Kurt doesn’t need further encouragement.

 

*

 

“I’d like to let you know there is life outside the library,” Kurt huffs irritably at the sight of the hunched figure above the thick book, almost tempted to run a frustrated hand through his coiffed locks because Jesus Christ, can’t he get a _break_ from this guy?, and Anderson raises his head at the voice and scowls.

“I’d like to let you know some people have different hobbies other than being an asshole,” he responds, knitting his thick eyebrow, and he looks so stupid Kurt would have let him know that if it wasn’t for the fact that it would inevitably lead to a yelling match and the librarian hushing them from the corner of the room.

“Like _what_ , exactly? Reading?”

Anderson slams his book shut, the vein in his neck popping out from how rigid he’s holding himself. “I have other fucking hobbies, Hummel -- like singing, and watching football, and acting, and a bunch of other things you won’t know anything about since your life revolves around being a son of a bitch.”

Kurt walks out the door with a parting angry expression, and is almost confusedly satisfied when Anderson returns as well as he’s given.

 

*

 

_i cant meet u today._

Kurt frowns at the text for thirty seconds before quickly typing back, _y?_

_got things 2 do._

Kurt throws the phone at his bed with much more force than necessary and rolls his desk-chair backwards, staring at the ceiling, attempting to understand why it bothers him so much that Blaine has to skip their regular day for some unknown reason.

Eventually he gives up and jerks-off to the lingering mental pictures from last week of Blaine stretched open, naked and begging, on Kurt’s white sheets; it’s more than enough to do the work.

 

*

 

They dance around each other for months, like they did that very first night, until things blow up like they were always meant to when posters carrying the title _West Side Story Auditions_ start showing up in the hallways.

Many boys go for the lead, when they hear some of the popular kids are participating; two boys go for the lead and have a chance; one boy is going to get the part, and it doesn’t help those two boys carry a story with their every step.

 

*

 

Kurt’s audition is a show-stopping scene, breathtaking and incredible, as he dances around the stage gracefully, voice clear and presence shining, like he’s meant to do it; a star upon a high-school stage that when one closes their eyes can almost be imagined to be a Broadway stage with Kurt lighting it up so brightly.

Blaine’s audition is quiet but gripping, his notes carrying through the auditorium easily, and he mostly stands in place but when he closes his eyes and lets the music come from inside him, he fills out the entire room like nothing any of them has ever seen before; he has the natural sort of talent many would kill for, and he seems to breathe and live the song.

Kurt watches from a dark, hidden spot of the auditorium as the casting crew rise to their feet and clap enthusiastically, just like they did for him, and he’d be jealous if he didn’t know he has this in his pocket.

 

*

 

The results sheet is hung on the main hallway’s wall a week later, across the school’s trophies, and Kurt pushes through the masses of students to get through because goddamnit most of them aren’t even going to watch the play when it premiers.

He fumes and stomps his foot and even threatens to sue the kid in a wheelchair who’s in charge of the casting when his name isn’t up there, on top of the list, and almost punches a wall with his bare fist when it turns out Anderson’s name _is_ there, but in the end Santana lays a soothing hand on his arm and promises a bloody revenge with sweetness in her voice only she can manage.

 

*

 

It’s a cloudy day when they meet in Santana’s living room, and she puts a blank page and a pen on the table as Brittany curls up next to her, twirling a blonde strand of hair around her finger as she watches the kids’ cartoons in silence.

Santana looks at him seriously and says she watched his audition like a good friend would and there’s no way Anderson would have gotten the role if he didn’t bribe the four-eyed loser to give it to him, and so he deserves fitting punishment.

Kurt blinks once as his mind conjures images of Anderson taking a bow center-stage where Kurt’s supposed to be -- and truth to be told, he’s always been a sour loser -- so he nods once and watches as Santana nods back and maps out their battle plan.

 

*

 

It starts easy, like a war of pranks between two kids in middle-school on April’s Fools week.

While Anderson is having his gym class, on Monday, Santana asks Puckerman to break into Anderson’s locker, and Kurt steals all the clean socks he can find and fills them with butter, and also, after a second thought, steals his CD of _Roxie Music_ because who even keeps their favorite band’s CDs in their gym locker?

In their shared Physics class, on Wednesday, he takes advantage of the one moment Anderson turns to talk to Berry across the aisle and switches one of the ingredients they need for the experiment they’re having with baking soda. The look on Anderson’s face when it blows up and covers his clothes is priceless, and as a bonus, class is dismissed until the teacher makes sure it’s not dangerous.

On Thursday, in a true middle-school fashion, Quinn -- because apparently his friends are joining the war, now -- sticks a paper saying _please spank my slutty ass_ with super-glue to Anderson’s back; he’d like to see Anderson’s face when he finds out, but he doesn’t notice, not even when people crack up every time he passes through the hallway -- which almost makes it better.

 

*

 

On Saturday night, when they’re pressed tight against the brick wall of a deserted drive-thru at the outskirts of town and their breathes come out fast and visible in the freezing cold air, Blaine pants onto his skin, “I know it was you.”

He bites at Kurt’s throat and thrust his hips hard one last time, and Kurt comes with a muffled shout without thinking of the consequences of what Blaine said.

 

*

 

And just like when they snap at each other in classes and hallways, Anderson gives back as well as he’s given.

On Tuesday the following weeks, he sneaks into Kurt’s Home Ec. class when the teacher isn’t looking with the excuse _of I’m just here to talk to Tina urgently about Mike_ when Mercedes asks, and empties a hot pepper bottle into Kurt’s bowl as Kurt walks to the front of the class to ask one of the sophomore girls who’s already tried the recipe he’s trying if he should use more sugar.

On Thursday, he covers Kurt’s car with sticky colorful balls it takes Kurt hours to get off, with the worst part being that he had to drive all the way across town from school to his dad’s garage with his car looking like a moving kids’ fucking ball pit.

On Friday, he somehow switches Kurt’s AP Modern European History paperwork to a hardcopy print of _2 Girls 1 Cup_ , including the detailed descriptions; it’s the most humiliating conversation Kurt has ever been called into his entire life, and the moment it’s over Kurt pulls out his phone and speed dials Santana.

When she finishes laughing her ass off she sobers up and agrees the hobbit has taken it too far, and they need to step it up as well.

Kurt feels no pity as he marches down the hallway with a determined expression and a mind full of ideas.

 

*

 

Kurt strikes and Anderson hits the ball right back to his field, over and over -- they’ve been called into the principal’s office twice, has been thrown out of class once each, and were even threatened with detention -- Anderson paled at the thought and _mysteriously_ toned down his move the day after, the nerd he is -- but nothing helps; until one gives up, each would continue playing.

But then, on Monday of the third week, when Anderson covers Kurt’s favorite, _extremely_ expensive designer jeans in paint that is helplessly unwashable, Kurt breaks and drives the twenty minutes to Santana’s, ranting her ear off for an hour and a half before she smirks at him and swears she knows a guy who can help them plan the ultimate payback.

Kurt purses his lips, thinks over his now forever ruined jeans, and nods, granting Santana permission to do and say whatever she wants about Anderson as long as it’s insulting enough, worthy of the insane amount of money Kurt spent on those jeans.

 

*

 

(In a way, they both find it somewhat bitterly amusing -- because the harder they fight, the better their sex life becomes.)

 

*

 

“-- that fucking ass, god, gonna fuck you so hard you can’t remember your own name --“

“Well hurry up, then,” Blaine groans from below him, arching his back and letting out a loud moan when Kurt rubs his hand over his achingly hard cock in his slacks.

“Patience is a virtue,” Kurt exhales, bending his neck so he can resume sucking on the purple spot on Blaine’s sharp hipbones, and Blaine lets out an incomprehensible noise and tangles his fingers in Kurt’s hair.

 

*

 

Santana doesn’t tell Kurt what day it’d be; she said, when they ironed out the last details of the plan -- the last details Kurt is allowed to be included on, because she grinned wolfishly and sworn it’d be better as a surprise -- that it’d be sometime between the weekend and next week.

Kurt walks to school with a scarf hiding the giant hickey on his collarbone, entirely unsuspecting, and is entirely unprepared for the sign flying in circles over school bearing the words _Blaine is a bottom_.

He swallows with difficulty and marvels over the fact that it’s somewhat ironic that it’s _Santana_ who wrote it, since he himself knows it’s not quite true -- but reminds himself that telling the entire school that, even if being a bottom in itself isn’t insulting, is a fitting revenge.

(And also, well, kind of, a little bit, sort of maybe too cruel, but -- he shakes his head and reminds himself, _he deserves it_ ).

 

*

 

The door to Sue’s office bangs open and a fuming Blaine Anderson ignores Santana’s frown and exclaims, “Why would you do that?”

Kurt blinks once and unconsciously slides Sue’s chair -- the one he’s sitting on -- further back, further from Anderson and the truly, shockingly terrifying angry, hurt expression he’s wearing. “I -- don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Anderson is taking none of his shit today; not that he ever does. “The sign,” he growls, furious and out of control and so completely upset Kurt is starting to make up his mind that they may have taken it too far, after all. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t you, Hummel, because it was and you’re a coward if you deny that.”

“So what if it was?” Kurt shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest and chancing a look over to Santana on the other side of the desk, who’s shifting her questioning eyes between Anderson and himself. “We all know you’re a bottom.”

“Oh, really?” Blaine mutters darkly, leaning onto the desk with his fingers clenching its edge so tight his knuckles turn white. “Because if I remember correctly, I was fucking you into the mattress last night.”

Santana’s eyes widen in shock and her lips part, but Kurt sees none of it, because the echoing images of Blaine gripping his wrists over his head, pinning him to the bed as he drives them hard and fast to the sound of Kurt’s begging fill his mind once more.

“Can’t really hide the fact that you’re limping,” Blaine snarls, dark and low and so completely too appealing, and Kurt has no idea what would be the end of that sentence had Sue not walked in, dragging a freshman by his ear and barking at Kurt and Santana that their meeting is to be delayed.

Blaine storms out, eyes glaring at Kurt once more, and it’s really unsurprising when Santana grips Kurt’s bicep and demands details.

 

*

 

That day, the skies are dark and the swing on Santana’s back porch squeaks as they both lie back on it, and Kurt lets out months of held back tension and stories, sparing no detail and having no shame, because it’s Santana and Kurt knows much more of her and Brittany’s sex life than he ever wants to.

Santana makes the right noises at the right times, grins devilishly and frowns appropriately, and when he’s done, and he exhales like he’s just ran a marathon because he never thought telling someone of his secret sex life with Blaine Anderson would be this tiring, she tangles her fingers through his and bumps her forehead against his shoulder and lets him know he’s hallway to being in love with Blaine if not already fallen.

He protests.

(Of course he does.)

But Santana rolls her eyes and straightens up, reaching her hands to pull her long black hair into a high ponytail, and asks him what Blaine’s hobbies are other than reading, what are his favorite books, what’s his favorite color, what greasy food he likes best, and every other pointless trivia fact she can come up with.

Kurt is more than shocked when he can answer a huge percentage of her questions without thinking twice, recalling observations and split conversations and memories he didn’t know he ever had.

When she has no more questions left she gets up from the swing and walks into the house, coming back with a blank page and a pen.

“What’s that for?” Kurt asks, suspiciously, because the last time he planned something with Santana they ended up here.

“We’re forming a plan for you to woo Blanderson,” Santana replies with sweetness in her voice only she can manage, and Kurt remembers once more how often he underestimates the goodness she’s hiding within her.

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> If you note the constant changing between Blaine's first and last name, you'll notice there's a pattern, that yes -- was very much intended.


End file.
